Monday, June 25, 2012

On a rocky hillside in the ancient village of Taybeh, the
fragrant smell of roasting barley emanates from an inconspicuous factory. Inside, the Khoury family is busily
overseeing several tanks of brewing liquid which will eventually be bottled and
packaged as the Middle East’s only microbrew.

The brewery occupies an interesting position in Palestinian
politics, history, and economics. Its founders, David and Nadim Khoury had
escaped the violence and instability of the West Bank to attend college in
Boston, Massachusetts. There, David fell in love with brewing beer. When the
Oslo Accords were signed in 1994, the brothers decided to move back to their
home village of Taybeh and support Palestinian people by bringing business: beer
business.

Alcohol is forbidden under Islam making Taybeh’s position in
the majority-Muslim West Bank a precarious one. The beer is produced in
Palestine’s last remaining entirely Christian town, but this fact alone has not
dissuaded extremists from targeting the Khoury family and the town of Taybeh in
acts of violent protest. David’s car has been torched, someone has shot at him,
and the factory was nearly burned down in 2005 during a period of religious
riots following the honor killing of a Muslim woman from a nearby town after it
was discovered she had engaged in a relationship with a Taybeh villager. Fourteen
homes were destroyed and the West Bank nearly lost its only brewery.

Explicit violence is not the only challenge the family
faces. The occupation of the West Bank results in stringent regulations and
policies that dissuade business and make life particularly hard for beer
brewers. The water for Taybeh comes from only two miles away, but this water
source is under Israeli control. The water is prioritized for the Israeli
settlements built on the hilltops surrounding Taybeh who receive a constant
flow, while Palestinian villages in the region are pumped water half of the
week, and only after they purchase it from Israel. After the production of the beer,
it must be transported through several checkpoints to reach distribution sites
within the West Bank, and particularly stringent checkpoints to enter Israel
for local use and export abroad. Brew Master Madees Khoury explained that
several times, shipments have spoiled while awaiting inspection or have been
refused entry into Israel, impeding all foreign export.

Despite the many challenges facing the small operation, the
family produces one terrific set of beers earning their moniker “The Finest in
the Middle East” (my personal favorite is their “Dark,” a rich and smooth
stout). The business remains viable, surviving its greatest challenge yet
during the Second Intifada and becoming a point of Palestinian pride in more
liberal cities where alcohol is legal. Their billboards often read: “Drink
Palestinian, Taste the Revolution.”

More than anything, the Khourys see their business as a form
of civil resistance. Born in a moment of hope after the historic Oslo Agreements,
the family dreams to someday see a free and prosperous Palestinian state.

“The
Christians of Taybeh have lived through countless occupations since the time
Jesus entered this town,” Maria Khoury explained to me, “and they have always
responded through peaceful resistance. This is a matter of great pride in our
village. We are not a violent people, and we will support Palestinian
independence not by strapping on bombs, but by brewing beer, providing jobs,
and investing in Palestine.”

“When I was young, I
couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand seeing the injustice of apartheid in my
home country of South Africa. It became so bad that my husband and I decided we
had to leave. We didn’t want to be a part of a country that oppressed its own people.
That was 1968,” Rosemary told me.

“So you decided to come to Israel?” I asked.

“Well, we considered many places—the United States, Europe—but
my husband thought it was important that Jews have a state to live peacefully
and prosperously. Even then, we were pretty secular, and I felt less strongly
about it than him, but we decided to give it a try for a year. We left South
Africa, had our first daughter here, he started a law practice…and we stayed.
Now, my grandchildren are here and I couldn’t even imagine leaving.”

Rosemary and I sat on the porch of a Palestinian souvenir
shop and sipped sweet tea the shop owner brought us. Across the street, we
watched one of Hebron’s 16 urban checkpoints as Israeli soldiers repeatedly
turned Palestinians away, forbidding them from crossing into the Israeli part
of town where we now sat. Rosemary played with her glass with a forlorn face.

“It’s awful,” she said, “It makes me sick. I came to Hebron
today because I felt I had to see it for myself, and it’s even worse than I’d
imagined. People in Israel just don’t know. They don’t allow themselves
to know."

Rosemary was one of several Israelis I met during my time in
Hebron who felt the military presence within the city, the presence of sometimes hostile settlers, and the imposition of road blocks and checkpoints unnecessarily oppressed Palestinians and infringed upon civil liberties. Another woman,
Rebecca, played with the golden charms of the Star of David and Hamsa Hand
dangling from her neck as she told me why she regularly visits Palestinian
families in the city to check in on them and draw attention to abuses that
occur. Despite her conservative religious and Zionist beliefs, she felt a
moral obligation to bear witness to the violent abuses committed by Hebron’s
settlers. Her decision has drawn great
criticism from her religious community in Jerusalem, yet she still visits
Hebron twice per month, sometimes accompanied by a friend, often alone.

Rosemary and Rebecca are part of a larger movement by Jewish
Israelis to oppose the most blatant abuses of Occupation. Several Israeli
organizations work to draw attention to human rights abuses in the West Bank,
including B’Tselem and Breaking the Silence, yet the number of open Israeli
dissenters still remains a minority. In many parts of the West Bank,
Palestinians have still never met a Jewish person who wasn’t working for the
Israeli Defense Forces or living in an illegal Israeli settlement,* perpetuating
mischaracterizations of all Israelis as unjust aggressors.

As was the case in segregated America and apartheid South
Africa, Occupied Palestine has created 2 distinct classes of people with
different laws determining freedom or oppression. Resentment seethes in the
archetypical city of Hebron, and patiently waits for the right moment to boil over.

*All Israeli settlements in the West Bank are considered
illegal under international law, though Israel disputes the International Court
of Justice’s ruling.

From behind a barred window, chained for added protection, seven
year old Aisha watched outside. In the small sports gymnasium two stories below,
young boys wearing kippa with face-long payot played a game of soccer, surrounded
by high walls and barbed wire.

The boys are children of Jewish settlers living in Hebron, a
city with roots predating the biblical era and archaeological records as old as
the Bronze Age. Their parents are some of the most extremist Zionists in the
West Bank, choosing to live in the only Israeli settlement located in the heart
of an Arab Palestinian city. In order to discourage violence between the 500
settlers and 165,000 Arab Palestinians living in Hebron, Israel maintains a
presence of an estimated 4,000 soldiers who oversee 116 roadblocks, closures and
checkpoints and man several military stations for each home inhabited by
settlers (TIPH).
The enforced segregation of the city has resulted in the closure of 1,829
Palestinian businesses located near settlements, 77% of the Old City’s
Palestinian-owned markets (ACRI).

Aisha’s walk home through the Old City requires her to pass
through two Israeli checkpoints where armed soldiers have the choice to
question her extensively or allow her to pass. On this day, joined by her
foreign friend, travel was a breeze.

The Old City’s ancient corridors are full of life, with
vendors beckoning passersby to buy their fresh produce, fragrant spices,
colorful ceramics and tapestries. Above the open-air market, Palestinians have
installed a roof of nets and fencing to protect themselves from propelled
objects and waste thrown by settlers living in apartments above.

Aisha running through a checkpoint

Aisha held my hand while flitting through the market,
propelling me quickly through the ancient streets and tunnels, dodging food
carts, donkeys, and pedestrians.

As we neared Aisha’s house, her older sister Sundus pointed
out their uncle’s home, located in the shadows of a Palestinian home illegally
taken by Israeli settlers who have ignored Israeli eviction orders for months.
Her uncle’s roof now serves as a permanent home for Israeli Defense Forces who
have built a watch tower over the family room. Sundus whispered to me that two
days ago, the soldier in the tower yelled explicit profanities at her.

Without warning, little Aisha picked up a stone and threw it
toward the tower.

“Aisha, what are you doing?!” I screamed, knowing how many children are shot and killed in the West Bank for throwing stones.

For a moment, I thought she had understood the fear in my
voice. Then, I saw her bend over again, pick up another stone and throw it.

“Aisha!!” I yelled, as I saw the soldier turn toward us with
his gun, “We have to go now!”

As we retreated from
the soldier’s post, Aisha closed one eye and formed her arms in the shape of a rifle.
“Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop,” she mimicked, pointing her arms back toward the
soldier and the settler’s home behind.

When we finally made it to Aisha’s home, her mother greeted
us, “alHamdu lillah,” “Praise God.”

In Arabic, I later learned, Aisha means “alive and well.”
Born during the Second Intifada and raised in an environment of incredible
tension, everyday Aisha makes it home safely is a day worthy of giving thanks
to Allah.

About Me

A friend recently called me "a missionary for peace," perhaps a fair description of my current venture. Since the summer of 2011, I have been traveling in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, exploring issues related to war, crisis and conflict. Peace work has been a longtime passion of mine, having co-founded Kids for Peace, and been changed by acts of violence that affected my own life. Follow along as I introduce you to those I meet, learn about other ways of life, and study issues related war, conflict, and crisis.